


Let Me Paint You

by TheMightyChipmunk



Series: Soulmate AUs [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Smut, or an attempt at minor dirty talk?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyChipmunk/pseuds/TheMightyChipmunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Enjolras met Grantaire, the night Grantaire forgot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Paint You

Enjolras vehemently disliked drunk people. Why would anyone willingly _decide_ to lessen the control that they had over their body? Why would anyone _allow_ themselves to infringe upon their ability to make sound and logical decisions? Why would anyone _choose_ to impede their motor abilities when walking in a straight line SOBER was already really difficult? Okay, well maybe it was only Enjolras who had trouble walking in a straight line, ever. But nonetheless, the appeal of getting obnoxiously drunk had never made sense to him.

That being said, Enjolras was about three beers and two back-to-back shots of tequila in when a very attractive and slightly intoxicated boy came up and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Dear _God_ you’re beautiful; let me paint you.” Now let it be repeated that Enjolras was already solidly drunk. Even if he hadn’t already drunk more alcohol than he was used to, he was a major lightweight. So safe to say he had no idea how to react when his _soulmate_  (who was decidedly very sexy) approached him at a party. He doesn’t remember how long he gaped at the boy, taking in his appearance. He had wide blue eyes, darker than Enjolras’ own but no less beautiful. His pale face was framed by messy black curls that made him look like he had just been thoroughly wrecked (he would later come to learn that his hair always looked like that and it proved extremely distracting on multiple occasions; no one should be allowed to walk around all day everyday with ridiculously attractive sex hair). His lips were a little thin, curled into a wide smile, and his nose was definitely crooked and he had a nice jaw line but it looked like it sat a little too far back on his face, if that makes any sense. He was still _painfully_ attractive. Good God, the boy was hot. And he was a painter, apparently. And he also really seemed like he _actually_ wanted to paint him, judging by his sincere smile and the paint splatters in his jeans and boots.

After looking his fill, Enjolras realized it was his turn to say something. He worried his lip between his teeth as his thoughts slowly drifted to early that night, even if it was all a little hazy. Enjolras somehow did distinctly remember sitting by the pool with Courfeyrac, their jeans rolled up as much as they could so that their feet could dip in the water.

“Have you ever seen _Clueless_ , Enj?” he had asked, the question coming out of nowhere. Enjolras, on his third beer by then and thus only slightly buzzed, shook his head.

“No, why?”

“Okay, then I have a lesson for you,” Courfeyrac announced, sitting up straighter and seemingly ignoring Enjolras’ question, “You are well aware that I have a lustrous history of relationships, and you’re probably thinking to yourself as you sit alone on this Valentine’s Day, how do I find love? Man, I wish I was as adept at romance as Courf is!”

“No I’m not.”

“And I am here to help you, my friend! I give you Courfeyrac’s Three Easy Steps to Seduction. First, you do what any normal person does and you send yourself flowers and chocolates and love notes. Try not make the guy see that you’re obviously desirable, just in case he didn’t already know. Because I mean, come on, look at us. Next, anything you can do to draw attention to your mouth is good. Which you should be fine with, I mean you have a really nice mouth. And you talk a lot, so.”

“I do not talk a lot!” Enjolras interjected petulantly.

“Then prove it and be quiet and listen, Enjo. Last most important thing is to show a little skin! That reminds guys of being naked and then they think of sex! Perfect. So, En-jol-ras, do you know the perfect way to execute all three of these steps at a party like the one we grace with our presence tonight?” Enjolras was baffled at Courf’s semblance of eloquence after the amount of cosmopolitans he had tossed back, so he just shook his head no, “Body shots, my friend. _Body. Shots_.”

“How does that work in the first step? The sending myself flowers and stuff?” Again, Courfeyrac ignored him and went off to ramble about God-knows-what. It was something to do with sex, but Enjolras wasn’t really listening.

It was this conversation that he remembered, about an hour and a half later, standing in Montparnasse’s kitchen and staring at sexy-artist-Jesus. He looked down at his recently filled shot glass and then looked at Courf who was sitting a couple of feet away from him at one of the barstools. Enjolras took a deep breath and thanked God for his loud voice.

“Body shots!” he yelled, eyes shifting between the boy and Courf. The whole room shouted in excitement, Courfeyrac the loudest as he cleared the kitchen table off. Enjolras grabbed the boy's hand and began tugging him that way. “Body shots?” he whispered it this time, just to him so that he wouldn’t think Enjolras was trying to get away from him or anything. The boy just smiled, crinkling his eyebrows adorably, making drunk Enjolras want to run his thumb over the brow and smooth it out again.

“Sure?” he laughed, “I’m Grantaire, by the way.”

“Enjolras. Oh, and you can paint me. Whenever. Wherever.” He said without thinking before he hopped up on the table. Grantaire laughed and Enjolras stared at him for a moment once he had tugged him to stand in between his legs dangling off the counter. He knew that taking off his shirt would show Grantaire his tattoo, situated right on his ribs, below his heart. If he took his shirt off now Grantaire would know.

“Okay, I guess you guys are going first,” Courf said and the people gathered around the table gave a collective cheer, “Enjolras, shirt off. I’m sure you know how this works,” he leaned in closer to Enjolras with a smirk, saying, “Remember what I said about the skin leading to sex?” he winked at Enjolras as he moved back and handed the bottle of tequila and salt to Grantaire who looked at Enjolras with a raised eyebrow. Damn, that was sexy (he might have accidently said that part out loud. He doesn’t remember too well).

Enjolras, with his lowered inhibitions and a wave of lust ripped his shirt off and laid back on the table, with his head pillowed on his hands. Grantaire smirked and leaned forward to grab a lime out of the bowl Courf had set out and placed it in Enjolras’ mouth, running a thumb gently across his lower lip in the process, making something hot coil in Enjolras’ stomach. Grantaire’s eyes were bright with lust and he practically radiated confidence.

That is, until he moved to pour the salt just above Enjolras’ belly button. He gasped softly and stuttered in his movements for a second when he read the words etched on his chest (the words he had just moments ago said), moving his fingers to trace what Enjolras assumed was familiar writing and causing a shiver to run down his spine. Grantaire smiled wolfishly at the reaction and then leaned in, hands bracketing Enjolras’ hips, and licked a broad stripe right over the words. Enjolras’ head lolled against the table and he squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sensation. He felt the sprinkle of salt over the newly wet skin and opened his eyes to see Grantaire fill a shot glass. He licked the salt back off of Enjolras’ tattoo (And Enjolras may or may not have whimpered at the repeated sensation) and tossed the shot back as the crowd cheered loudly again. Normal Enjolras would be entirely offended by the cheering, the wolf-whistling and lewd remarks, but now he was too caught up in the way Grantaire gripped his hips before leaning in to take the lime from his lips, which were practically buzzing with anticipation. Enjolras expected it to be quick, although looking back he knows that was stupid.

He thought Grantaire would just dip in and take the lime, maybe brushing their lips slightly in the process. No, Grantaire leaned in and dug his teeth into the flesh of the lime, letting the juices explode out into both of their mouths, but not moving his head at all, keeping the fruit and his mouth close to Enjolras. His breath hitched as Grantaire kept his eyes fixed on his own as he sucked the juice from the lime slowly so that Enjolras had to bite down harder to keep the fruit from dropping. He groaned loudly when Enjolras moved back and spit the lime out before surging forward to claim his lips. It started chaster than Enjolras had planned, just a fierce press of their lips. It quickly spiraled when Enjolras sat up and wrapped his legs around Grantaire’s waist, pulling him as close as he could.  

“Whoa there lover boys! Let’s clear out a space for some new people,” Courfeyrac announced, pulling the two of them a little forcefully off of the counter, “Not that you aren’t both gorgeous, but there are other people in line.” He turned around to help the next couple up and Enjolras felt a tug on his hand.

“Wanna dance?” Grantaire asked him, leading him towards the living room that everyone had collectively decided would be the dance floor. Enjolras nodded emphatically, only tripping slightly in his attempt to get closer to him.

“I’m not a great dancer, though. I should warn you.” Enjolras said, only slurring his words about 45%.

“Don’t worry. Just follow me.” Grantaire whispered with a warm smile, making Enjolras’ stomach flutter in anticipation. The room was crowded, tons of intoxicated and adrenaline-fueled teenagers jumping and grinding against each other. Grantaire held Enjolras close as he pushed their way through more towards the center of the room. He doesn’t remember how long they danced, but by the time they were done they were both sweaty with exhaustion, worn out and also built up from their constant proximity and thus sexual tension. Enjolras prided himself to be physically fit, but he was panting by the end because _damn_ Grantaire could dance. They’d been passed a couple more shots as they were dancing, so Enjolras was still effectively drunk and thus he blames alcohol for what he said next.

“You wanna get out of here?” Enjolras whispered in Grantaire’s ear, resting his head on his temple as he waited for him to respond. Grantaire just groaned and tugged him towards the door.

“You should be _fucking illegal_.” Grantaire muttered under his breath before pulling him in for a kiss even as they walked. He was an amazing kisser, coaxing Enjolras to part his lips in seconds and swiping his tongue feverishly into his mouth, making Enjolras’ knees weak.

“Where are we going?” Enjolras asked, pulling away reluctantly when Grantaire grabbed keys out of the bowl by the door. The boy just grinned and kissed him again. Enjolras forgot his question when Grantaire tangled his hand in his hair, tugging hard on the strands to tilt his head into a better angle. He moaned loudly into Grantaire’s mouth and he flushed red. Only Courf and Combeferre knew just how sensitive Enjolras was about his long blonde hair. It was like his Achilles’ heel; one tug and he was putty. Grantaire definitely noticed and smirked devilishly before tugging his hair in one long slow movement, baring Enjolras’ neck so he could suck a bright red bruise there. Enjolras felt his knees give and he fell forwards, going practically limp in Grantaire’s arms. The other boy grunted and pushed him backwards, so that his back hit against something solid and hard. Enjolras was startled by the impact, not realizing where Grantaire had lead the two of them.

“Oh, _hell_ no!” Enjolras managed to choke out after he looked behind him and saw they were in the garage and he was splayed out on an obnoxiously large black truck.

“What?” Grantaire snapped, moving back slightly as Enjolras started to stand up on his own.

“Is this your car?” Enjolras snapped back, pointing at the giant monstrosity, indignation obvious in his voice. Grantaire looked at him like he was crazy.

“What? No, it’s Montparnasse’s. We needed a place to fuck and I like pissing him off. It’s a win-win.”

“No _fucking_ way I’m having sex with you in that poisonous piece of garbage, Grantaire.”

“ _Jesus Fucking Christ, Enjolras_ ,” Grantaire groaned, “We’re having sex, not driving cross country! I won’t even put the keys in, I promise.” Enjolras noted fondly that he talked with his hands when he spoke, arms waving emphatically to emphasize his points, but he still wasn’t swayed.

“It’s principle, Grantaire. I’m not getting in it. I’m sure you can think of somewhere else we can go.” He crossed his arms in front of him and stood up straight. Grantaire glared at him like he couldn’t believe he was serious.

“You’re lucky you’re fucking gorgeous.” He growled before taking Enjolras hand again, “Come on, Apollo, I hope my car is good enough for you.” Enjolras grinned as he followed Grantaire out and down the giant driveway. He looked back at the giant house, glowing bright, and wondered how the fuck ‘Parnasse had enough money for a house that nice. The thought was pushed from his mind pretty efficiently when they got to Grantaire’s car, a dark green and average sized pick-up truck.

“Good enough, princess?” Grantaire asked as he opened the door and climbed in, Enjolras following right behind.

“Perfect.” Enjolras whispered, ignoring the nickname and instead straddling Grantaire’s hips and leaning over to suck hard on the junction between shoulder and neck, making him groan. The reaction made a surge of pride rush through Enjolras and he felt giddy on it, on Grantaire. “I should really find a way to say thanks.” Enjolras teased as he less-than-gently grabbed at the bulge in Grantaire’s obscenely tight jeans.

“ _Jesus_ , Enjolras.” Grantaire whined, pulling him in for a rough kiss as Enjolras fumbled with the fastening on his jeans.    

“Who the fuck wears jeans this tight, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked once he finally managed to unbutton the jeans and was attempting to pull them down his hips.

“Um, _you_.” Grantaire snapped, moving his hands to grab Enjolras’ ass hard.

“Oh, right.” Enjolras admitted as he laughed and shifted off of Grantaire’s lap and tried to fit in the small area they had in his backseat. When he was settled he pulled Grantaire out of his boxers. He didn’t even give him time to loll his head back and groan out his name before taking his cock into his mouth, sucking hard and going down almost to the root. Grantaire gasped and arched his back, choking Enjolras slightly with the shock.

“Shit Enjolras, I’m sorry. Ugh, I’m sorry, but _your mouth_.” He tightened his hands in the seat cushions and Enjolras smiled and shook his head as best he could with his lips still stretched around Grantaire’s dick. He looked up at him and winked, grabbing one of his hands and placing it in his own hair. He moaned approvingly when Grantaire took the hint and tugged him up and back down, “Oh my God, you are literally perfect.” They stayed that way for a little while longer, Enjolras’ knees and jaw aching, cock uncomfortably tight in his jeans as Grantaire fucked his face. He whimpered at a particularly rough thrust and squeezed Grantaire’s thighs tighter as he ground his hips, desperately seeking any type of friction. He knew he looked like a slut, but Courfeyrac can attest to the fact that drunk Enjolras has always been a little slutty. Grantaire laughed softly at him before pulling him off and up, back into his lap. Enjolras was dizzy with the sudden change but he moaned appreciatively when Grantaire started rubbing at his aching dick.

“I really wanna fuck you.” He whispered in Enjolras’ ear, making him keen and fall forward, resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder as he pictured it, “Damn your vocal,” Grantaire said, laughing softly again and Enjolras didn’t know why but that made another bolt of lust shoot through him, “Would you be loud for me if I fucked you? Would you beg for me, Apollo? Would you _scream_?” Grantaire pushed his hand forward hard into Enjolras’ still confined erection and he practically screamed just at that. He nodded his assent vigorously.

“Please, _please_ , ‘Taire.” He mumbled incoherently.

“What do you want, Apollo? Tell me.” Grantaire asked as he stilled Enjolras hips and sucked and bit on the shell of his ear.

“Let me come, please.” He didn’t have to ask twice. Grantaire practically growled in his ear before efficiently getting both of their cocks out and slowly rolling their hips together, forcing choked wines and whimpers from both of them.      

“Oh, _Grantaire_.” Enjolras groaned as his hands scrambled for purchase on Grantaire’s wide shoulders. He brought his hands down, spreading them over his muscled chest and reveling in the difference of Grantaire’s body to his own. Where Enjolras was pale, Grantaire was tan; Enjolras was smooth everywhere and Grantaire had hair across his chest and up his legs and arms; where Enjolras had his tattoo right over his heart Grantaire had… nothing. Enjolras gasped slightly with shock right as Grantaire captured his lips in his own and did something sinful with his tongue, making Enjolras forget about everything but Grantaire’s cock against his own. Grantaire shouted his name loudly as he reached his orgasm and Enjolras wasn’t far behind, sinking his teeth into Grantaire’s shoulder as release hit him. He slumped against Grantaire’s chest as his arms tightened around him. He wanted to stay there forever, basking in afterglow as Grantaire pulled him to lay vertical across the backseat. The temptation was so much that he almost fell asleep as Grantaire (who was apparently much drunker than he had before realized) did and then he remembered the tattoo.

Has it been made clear that Enjolras was still very drunk? And despite the sobering effects of the mind-blowing orgasm, he was still very _very_ drunk? Okay, good, because alcohol is again going to be blamed for Enjolras’ very bad decision to freak out and leave the sleeping Grantaire in a mild state of panic. He scrambled out of the car, pulling his shirt back on and grabbing his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Courfeyrac’s number as he hurried along the street in the direction he sincerely hoped was towards campus.

“Hey, Courf, it’s Enjolras. Just wanted to let you know I’m on my way home so you don’t think I got kidnapped and murdered. Okay, the same courtesy would be nice! Bye Courf.” Enjolras groaned as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and practically ran home.

###

“You left him _asleep?_ ” Courfeyrac yelled at him the next morning, quite loudly and quite inconsiderate of the fucking awful hangover Enjolras had been experiencing. He grabbed his pillow and tugged it over his head, trying to stop the pounding that started in his brain and reverberated throughout his entire body. “What the fuck were you _thinking_? Enjolras; it’s _Grantaire!_ He’s seventeen! Of course he doesn’t have your tattoo yet!” This caused Enjolras to groan louder before he tugged the pillow off his head and threw it hard at Courf.

“I fucking know that _now_! But I was drunk and emotional and vulnerable and I panicked! You know how I get when I’m drunk! _Fuuuuck_!”

“You are such an idiot, Enjolras. You’re lucky you’re pretty.” Courfeyrac said, helping abso-fucking-lutely no one as he swirled around in Enjolras' desk chair.

“How are you not hung over?” Enjolras snapped at him incredulously as he got nauseous just watching his best friend spin back and forth. The asshole just shrugged and smiled.

“He’s never been hung over in his life. He’s too happy to let that happen.” Combeferre said with a smirk even though that couldn’t possibly be fact. He tossed Enjolras a water bottle and demanded he drink the whole thing, which Enjolras did happily. “So are you going to go find Grantaire today?” Enjolras groaned in reply.

“Noooo. I am so not ready for that. Good God, he must think I’m an asshole. He probably hates me.”

“That’s not true.” Combeferre argued, shaking his head and Enjolras’ childishness.

“No one could hate you, Enjolras. Especially no one who looked at you like _that.”_ Courf said with a wink that made Enjolras blush despite himself as he remembered the fire in Grantaire’s eyes as he’d stared at him. No, it wasn’t a fire. It was more of a liquid heat.

“Still, shit, I just need some time. Time to get over the general suffocating and horrible embarrassment.”

“How much time are you thinking?”

“Ten years?” Even though his eyes were closed, Enjolras knows it was Courf who threw the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> someone commented asking for this (sort of) and i got a little carried away with it! I will take any excuse to write Enjolras and Grantaire (and not study for my IB exams whoops) 
> 
> hope you guys liked it! :)


End file.
